It's been a while since I read it, but Gail Kligman's The Politics of Duplicity deals with this topic quite well. My memory is a little fuzzy, but IIRC, women were treated more or less as baby factories. Birth control and abortion were made illegal in order to spur population increase. As was common in totalitarian regimes, there were awards for having X number of children, and women who for whatever reason did not bear were at least slightly shamed.

EDIT: I found a review I wrote of Kligman's book. It was from early on in grad school, so take it for what it's worth:

Gail Kligman wrote, “reproduction serves as an ideal locus through which to illuminate the complexity of formal and informal relations between states and their citizens.” (3) This simple, yet important statement is the framework under which Kligman develops her fascinating study of the relations between Nicolae Ceausescu’s state and its inhabitants. Kligman argues that Ceausescu’s Romania sought to homogenize society to strip away social class differences and thereby achieve the communist ideal. This homogenization was to be accomplished by a very strongly pronatalist policy that asserted the state into the private sphere of sex and reproduction at a level not seen elsewhere. This pronatalism was the cornerstone of Ceausescu’s political demography – a process by which laws and decrees were used to guide the evolution of the Romanian state.

Kligman asserts that Ceausescu believed that the state had the right to determine and control the population it represented. Population itself was to be used for “the creation and maintenance of the labor force to build socialism.” (10) Ceausescu’s population was a strategic asset and it would be used and manipulated as he saw fit. Kligman’s later evidence, particularly that concerning how Ceausescu’s secret police enforced his decrees illustrate this argument. Kligman builds her argument in the introduction to include a statement that for Ceausescu, family itself was an “ideological construct and political-cultural practice” that was to be manipulated as the state (Ceausescu) saw fit. (11) Tracing the history of abortion in Romania, Kligman shows that similar to the nascent USSR, upon the founding of the Romanian state, abortion was legalized in order to promote the socialist attack on family structures that clouded the loyalty of the populace to the state. Again paralleling the USSR, Romanian birth rates dropped precipitously upon liberalization of abortion law. The subsequent tightening of abortion law, going so far as to make it a crime in all but the most extreme cases of danger to the mother also parallels the USSR in outcome. Kligman argues, however that this reversal of policy with respect to reproductive choice is based not only on a desire to maintain a population to “build socialism,” but more importantly to assert the state as parent, to children certainly, but also to adult women and men. Ceausescu wanted to usurp traditional parental and gender roles in order to create a society with himself as the ultimate father figure. (31)

Ceausescu’s desire to gerrymander Romanian society required him to interject state authority in the most intimate and private of places, in effect making the private public. In the bedroom, certain methods of birth control were dismissed as dysfunctional and a cause of frigidity. (143) In the doctor’s office, the state asserted itself in the medical relationship, making doctors the “principle propagandists” in a “coercive[ly] pronatalist” state. (100) And perhaps most intrusively, the state asserted itself in the bodily decisions of women, where Ceausescu managed to make a body “a vehicle through which “greater” goals than those of the individual are intended to be realized.” (7) Romania’s all encompassing state had an ability and desire to penetrate deeply into the lives of Romanians, so deeply in fact that Kligman argues the “totalizing power” of the state became a “normal feature” of life. (13)

Kligman, a sociologist by training and profession, uses this “totalizing” intrusion into the reproductive lives of Romanians to show how Ceausescu manipulated the picture of society that he offered to the outside world. Kligman terms this process of statistical falsification, propaganda, and outright lies “duplicity” and it forms an important underlying theme of her study. Birth and death statistics became outright forgeries in order to keep the real situation – that of a disturbingly high infant mortality rate – hidden from the world. The state directed physicians to wait a longer period of time before officially recording a birth, as it is of course impossible for a baby to die if it were never born. (220) Kligman argues that as time passed, Ceausescu expanded his regime’s duplicitous propaganda into nutrition and HIV/AIDS reporting, with the state exerting pressure on the medical profession to keep real, empirical studies for “internal use” only (207) in order to hide the ugly realities of life in a failed state with a population “condemned to birth.” (147)

Additionally, the state was duplicitous in its support for the rights of women in general. Kligman shows how the state maintained an ostensible, socialist-styled inclusion of women in its power structure, in order to make women feel included and therefore more complicit with state demands. However, the real policies of Ceausescu’s state were designed not only to subjugate women to the state, but also to strip them of the one natural right women had under socialism: that right to be a mother. Ceausescu demanded that women raise their children (actually, his, in Ceausescu’s eyes) so that the children could be “[given] to the country” to serve in whichever way the state desired. (113)

As the first five chapters of Kligman’s book unfold, the narrator informs the reader, with occasional quoted snippets from various actors included to make a point. It is in chapter six, entitled “Bitter Memories: The Politics of Reproduction in Everyday Life” where Kligman relieves the almost palpable tension in the book created by an absence of societal voices. At times heartbreaking to read these real stories are drawn from various oral histories collected by the author and her assistants and provide a solid grounding for a social historian seeking to understand life in Ceausescu’s Romania.

Kligman’s argument, that a totalitarian Romanian state sought to interlace itself in every aspect of the lives of its citizens in order to promote a political and ideological platform of homogenization of the population through political demography, is well argued in her book. Her use of oral histories (albeit perhaps belatedly) lends strength to her assertions and leaves the reader with a strong sense of how difficult life was under Ceausescu, especially for women faced with a reproductive moment in their lives, a moment in which many women were “betrayed” by their body. (203)